Bubble-Gum Asphalt
by PoppyStars
Summary: Nolanverse, my own take on Harley. Her first job and the people of Gotham's first look at the girl's fall from grace. Different background for Harley, same bubbly, love-sick girl we know and love.
1. Chapter 1

**_A.N: This is definitely based heavily on NolanVerse- I liked the gritty feel of the movies. But I have my own little pieces of canon, including a different background for Harley, and a different take on the people that follow the Joker. This is as much a study of them as it is of her._**

None of them knew what to make of it the first time the petite girl had stepped onto the scene, in clothes that looked like they'd been stripped from a dead bratty teenager- they had- and popping bubble gum so loudly that some of the touchier guys ducked for cover whenever they saw a pink bubble. She'd been in the warehouse, on the little platform that their Boss erected so he could speak to them all without raising his voice. It was rickety and rusted, creaking every time a booted foot stepped on the metal, but it served their purposes well enough. Like most of the men who followed the Joker, it was in a state of disrepair, but managed to serve its function. It was like heaven to the gutter rats who gazed up at it, waiting for inspiring words from their God, wringing their hands and wondering how many of them would die today, how many would water the asphalt with their blood.

Some of the ones who muttered from the corners of their mouth and moved in quick, sharp, jerky motions, had taken to calling him Jesus. And in a way, he was- as much as any other religious figure could be called Jesus. He brought them together and gave them a purpose. He filled their heads with his whispered words, rewarded loyalty sparingly but often enough so that they continued to wait for the few scraps of kindness like well-trained dogs. His gospel was the howling of the wind through the warehouse they slept in, roaring so loudly through the little space that the screams of the more disturbed faded into white noise. They slept when the wind roared, Mother Nature's screams easier to drown out than those of their fellow man.

Down here they were in hell, in filth and squalor, waiting for the fallen angels, those few scraps of kindness, to come tumbling down from above, shedding feathers and blood and regret. And if he was Jesus, she was Mary, and the name was shouted at her when she stood at his side, screamed from individual throats that had meant the word to be a lonely prayer. She'd popped her gum one last time, gazing down at the unwashed masses from her rusty cloud on high, before she strolled forward to address them with a giggle and a half wave.

"Aw man, so much pressure!" The blonde girl threw over her shoulder to the silent clown, pigtails bobbing. Without waiting for a response, she looked back down to the rabble and plopped herself down on the edge of the platform, legs kicking back and forth. Glittering blue eyes surveyed the crowd, watching every twitch, catching every mutter, and meeting the gaze of those who would look her in the eye.

"I'm Harlequin." She introduced herself, giggling at the foreign feel of the name on her tongue. It was the first time she'd used it, first time she'd applied the label to herself, and she had to admit- it felt just right. Mister J hadn't been wrong when he'd picked it. "But ya can call me Harley for short." Thick accent dribbled off her tongue, drowning the ones below her with gobs of cotton candy and dried blood. They basked in the glow of it, for they treasured all words that came down from Heaven; and if their God had let her address them from on high, then she must be holy too.

He moved up beside her, towering over the petite form in the red, shredded t-shirt and black pants, flicking a switchblade in and out without being aware of the action. Harley leaned her head on his leg, sighing a little with happiness, but he spared not a glance for the girl- his eyes studied the crowd. Where hers had been probing, questioning, seeking the nuances of this new place she found herself in, his were all-knowing. He did not need to look hard, for he knew what was there: he'd orchestrated it, built in, lovingly tended the fanatical determination this street trash held for him. The delusional ones thought he was Jesus reborn. The paranoid ones were convinced he was the only thing that could protect him from their fears. Those who couldn't make ends meet or found themselves shoved into the garbage dump of humanity found purpose in his simple words, his little expressions.

Charismatic leaders found audiences and followers anywhere they looked, simply by being themselves.

"I want anyone who's feeling brave tonight to come outside with me." He called, and there was an anticipatory rustling as everyone looked around at each other. Not all of them would come home, not all of them would see the light of the next morning; but that was fine. To die in God's service made them martyrs, venerated and holy, the closest they'd ever get to that creaking platform and those green eyes. And now those blue ones too.

A group of twenty were selected from the riff-raff, nudged out of the crowd by the girl's quick, soft hands. She darted among them without fear, even when the more violent ones tried to grab the edge of her pigtail or the sleeve of her shirt, tried to crush her in their thick arms. It wasn't their fault: they didn't know their own strength, and they only wanted a look at their new Mary.

_Mary, Mary, so contrary…_

She giggled and spun through their ranks, dodging hands and limbs, offering brilliant grins to everyone in her path. It was a joke to her, it seemed- the choosing of the ones who would come, the ones who would be led like lambs to the slaughter. Like water she flowed, graceful and precise, stepping exactly where she meant to, limbs controlled. Someone thought he recognized her and the feeling nagged in the back of his head itched, until with a start he remembered: she was _Harleen Quinzel._ The Olympic medalist who'd brought home gold from the games in London a few years back. The bobbing pigtails were definitely new- her hair had been shorter then, or at least kept tucked into a tidy bun at all times- but there could be no mistaking the grace in her motion. Unconsciously, the man breathed out her name, and those baby-blues snapped up to meet his gaze. She poured herself through the crowd to stand in front of him, the sweetest smile he'd ever seen clapped onto her face. Harlequin nudged him out of line and numbly, he went to stand with the other chosen few, wondering if he'd done something wrong in speaking her former name. But no. This was a reward, a gift.

A bus waited for them, and they were seen off by the adoring cheers of the unchosen crowd, who held out their hands to the departing vehicle, alternating between begging to go and screaming the names of the selected. They gained new holy figures, new angels, every time the yellow bus rolled out of the parking lot, and they envied them. The names turned into whispers when they could no longer see the speeding form and they were spread like a fever. Repeated over and over until the people they spoke of were not human anymore but divine beings, chosen to be sanctified, chosen to be special and holy. A school bus full of newly appointed saints hurtled down the road, shredding its tires on the asphalt.

Weapons were shoved into hands by a few men who had already been on the bus, waiting. These people did not sleep in the warehouse, under the roaring of the Heavens, and so they were angels- messengers and servants of their lord, but no more. He sat in the back of the bus with his arm thrown absently around the bubble-gum girl, watching the proceedings with a careful eye. The last few rows were empty, because everyone knew that if you got too close without him wanting you to, you were struck down with the flash of a blade and a sea of red. That was his right, as their God- only the chosen should approach.

She began to get restless after a while and fidgeted on the seat, twisting under his arm to stare out the back window. There were other cars on the road but they gave the school bus no second glances, too wrapped up in thinking about how late they were going to be for work or talking on the phone to their spouses about whatever dick move their boss had pulled. Such ordinary, humdrum activites- it made her giggle to think of what was coming for the city in just a few hours. The giggles turned into full-blown laughter and she turned back around to see the Joker's eyebrow raised, wondering what the joke was that had her in convulsions.

In between cackling, she jammed a thumb in the direction of the window and managed to convey that she'd once been "Just like them." He nodded and awarded her a grin that had those who saw it flinching away, gazing out the windows or at the ground. Sometimes The Joker was difficult to look directly at- like the sun, it burned your retinas to stare at his magnificence for too long, gave you spots across your vision and a pain in your head. Harleen Quinzel had already been blinded and she looked at him without fear.

Their destination was an airplane hangar at the Gotham Airport and the men stared in wonderment as they were waved through the access gate without any trouble. They thought their God must be very powerful indeed to arrange such a thing and nodded to themselves, secure in the knowledge they were following the right person. In reality, it was money that ruled all, and money was something that he never lacked for. The guards were all too happy to accept an early Christmas bonus.

Pulling into the cool shade of the hangar, they trooped off and milled around, peering at the vehicles parked there or inspecting the guns they'd been given. Instead of an airplane there were five cars, all inconspicuously brown, all a little beat-up and dingy. The men they'd taken for angels, the ones who were clean and mean looking, each went to a car and pulled a bag from the backseat. The acolytes peered curiously at them, wondering what they were doing as they pulled on purple coats and fingerless gloves, dressing themselves in clothes reminiscent of their God.

The Joker cleared his throat, calling their attention back to him easily.

"Split into five groups of four and pick a car." He waggled his fingers in a vague motion, indicating the people who were now rubbing on white greasepaint and chalking green through their hair.

The more lucid among them hastened to do as he asked, dragging a buddy who didn't understand with them. It was clear each vehicle was to have a different destination and they hoped they were choosing well; a martyr's death had to be symbolic, after all. But their God would have chosen appropriate places for all- he didn't discriminate- and so they didn't have too much to be worried about. Excitement itched down their backs, spreading through their limbs and pooling in their stomachs. This was all they'd wanted since they first heard his words; first found their Jesus, their Mary, their Gospel.

"Now, uh, this is the last time I'm gonna see any of you. And I'd like to say, uh, thanks for your sacrifice. Follow the orders of the guy who looks like yours truly and you'll get what you've been waiting for."

His words were cheered by twenty voices that reverberated around the space, multiplying through echoes until there were 200 people ready and willing to die for the Joker's cause. They packed into their chosen vehicles as the new "Jokers" got behind the wheel, one by one pulling out of the hanger. The occupants held their arms out to their god in prayer, roaring for his blessing one last time with all the fever of fanatics about to die for the religion they loved. He gave them a jaunty little wave and a huge grin, watching until the last of the cars was gone before turning back to Harley, sparing not another thought for those he'd sent to their deaths.

She lounged on the hood of a black escalade without a care in the world, peering at him from underneath stray strands of her hair and blowing a bubble as big as her head. He felt the urge to pop it as he walked towards her, but refrained, knowing she'd be squealing about gum in her hair for hours. Besides- she had to look her best for her debut. Her appearance was a direct reflection on _him. _

Some other time. Perhaps he'd get so much gum stuck in her hair that she'd have to cut off her pigtails. And he could offer to do it for her, and the scissors would slip, and he'd end up with a new ear to do something fun with…

They climbed into the car and she glanced back at the cargo they were carrying, lighting up with joy. Her favorite toy had been packed along with all the other supplies and she beamed at Mister J, happy he'd been thoughtful enough to bring it along for her.

"Thank ya puddin'!" She exclaimed. He didn't look at her as they pulled out onto the tarmac, heading back through the gate they'd come from. That rung a bell somewhere in her memory and she struggled to think why, looking around the car.

Wasn't there something she was supposed to be doing…?

It involved calling someone…

_Right! _

Harley dug in her pocket for a phone and tapped in the number for the police's anonymous tip line, adopting a southern accent when a bored voice answered the line.

"Yeah, I'd like ta report somethin' I saw. I think I saw tha' Joker fella you all are lookin' for."

The voice on the other line went quiet for a moment before calmly asking for details, clacking at keys on their computer with such urgency that the sound could be heard through the phone.

"He was in a school bus, I think he was headin' ta the airport, and he had a bunch of his goons, with guns n'stuff. A regular little army."

With a self-satisfied smirk, the girl cut the line off before the officer could ask any more questions and tossed the phone out the window. The police probably got tons of 'Joker' sightings, but they were obligated to check most of them out- and when the hangar with the bus was discovered, they'd realize something was up.

And if they were going to start looking for the Joker, then wasn't it only polite that he give them something to find?

Well, five somethings to find. The gutter rats were useful after all.

**_A/N: I'd be very interested to know if you think this is worth continuing. Please let me know. _**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Ain't my best writing in this chapter. Sorry about that, hope you can bear with me.**

He was rage and storms and controlled chaos, wrapped into the form of a man armed with sharp knives and wit. He laughed and she swore the buildings shook around him, swore she could see pavement crack and spiders pour from nothing to devour the people of the world. Sometimes, she thought that after the universe was done, after the lights had been turned out and the barstools put up, once the final door was locked and the key thrown away, his laugh would begin to ring again in the silence of the void.

Maybe he was the human form of some dark, ancient god who'd been long forgotten by time. It would certainly explain how he'd survived this long coasting on luck and the fear of his name. Someday, they'd unearth a previously unknown civilization and begin to dust off its temples, books, and art. There would be a figure with a familiar smile adorning many of the pieces, sometimes lurking in the corner of the piece and sometimes front and center, master of all he surveyed, lord of the destruction that rained down on the populace. Harley imagined that they'd cried his name when their people were dying, begging him for forgiveness or respite. Begging for the lives of their children and the legacy of their buildings, hands outstretched to the crimson grin that only smiled down in love of what he had created.

The petite girl loved him so much that it was a wonder she hadn't died from it yet. Her slender form, now dancing on the edge of a metal railing atop the Gotham Royal Hotel, didn't feel like it was enough to contain her adoration for the man who'd cracked her head open and poured out almost all that had made her who she was. As she cartwheeled above the sidewalk, 56 stories away, she kept her eyes on the purple back carefully corralling the hostages into one corner of the rooftop bar. It had been simple enough to take over- flash enough weapons and anyone who would have wanted to be a hero simply melted away. He was peering intently into the faces of the people they'd found, mostly businessmen or families and a few of the bar's waiters. They cowered away from him, no doubt familiar with the face of the man who'd terrorized their city a few years ago and who, unknown to them, had been steadily taking over the Underworld ever since.

The men they'd brought with them were setting charges around the open air bar, casting furtive glances at The Joker and his girl. It was hard to tell which was crazier and, in fact, they had a betting pool open. It was mostly the older men who put their money on the Boss, remembering the chaos he'd created for Gotham and the money burned- literally- along the way. But the younger ones, recruited from crime families all over the city, pointed to the little blonde girl with the sweet giggle and the sledgehammer slung across her shoulders. She had to be nuts to snuggle under the man's arm so happily, had to be out of her mind to let those scars brush the inside of her thighs and paint her skin. Harley had asked one of the men to bring her hammer to her earlier, before they'd left the safety of their hideout for the warehouse The Joker kept his more fanatical followers in. It had been a struggle for the man to carry it and he gaped when the gymnast took it from him with ease, an eyebrow raised at sweat beading on the man's brow.

"It's no' tha' heavy, sugar."

She'd laughed at him, blonde pigtails bobbing, patting his shoulder as she passed. He had 50 dollars in the pool on her being the one to snap first.

Of course, it would be quite difficult to tell when they finally did.

Crazy fucking clowns.

The sledgehammer rested on the concrete beside the railing Harley was currently using as a balance beam, small drops of blood trailing to it from the door like some grim parody of Hansel and Gretel. It was clear that more than a few of the hostages were staring at her, trying to understand the visual of a pretty girl in clown makeup dancing on the edge of the roof without fear. They'd never heard of The Joker having a female partner, but there she was, face caked in white and black instead of the rubber clown masks the other men wore. Someone had tried to appeal to her, tried to beg her to help them as guns fired and bodies were herded out of the way. It was where the blood on her hammer had come from and why there was a still-twitching corpse on the ground near the bar.

Blue eyes slid over to the bar in the corner and she was struck with an idea that had her flipping easily off the railing and back onto solid ground. It had been a while since she had anything remotely like a balance beam to practice on and mentally she made a note to ask for one for their hideout. There were only so many handstands and flips she could do on her mats before she went nuts.

"Hey, Mr. J! Can I borrow one a these fiiiine people for a sec?"

Standing at his side, it was easy to see how much the man towered over her. Harley beamed up at The Joker, rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited for him to turn his attention to her. She realized she'd interrupted one of his stories only when his eyes slid to her with all the warmth of dry ice.

"And, uh… Which exactly do you wan-_t_, Harley?"

A small voice inside her warned her to be careful but she ignored it, as she had since meeting him.

"The bartender! I want him ta make me a drink!"

He regarded her for a moment, inscrutable, and she shifted nervously under his gaze, wondering if that was the wrong thing to ask for. The bruise on her cheek, completely covered with white greasepaint, throbbed.

Eventually he looked away and she breathed again as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, turning back to the hostages who huddled closer together now that his attention was once again on them. Harley winced when his fingernails dug crescents into her arm, presumably punishment for not waiting. At least he was wearing his gloves: if he hadn't, there'd probably have been blood oozing down her arm, and she was not in the mood to ruin this shirt.

"Which of you is the bartender?"

The white and black clad waiters seemed frozen, massed together like giant penguins on the last piece of ice in the Arctic. After a minute, a trembling hand was raised and a young man with black hair stood- Harley appreciated the fact that he'd announced himself. It would have been so annoying if they had to start threatening people.

Well. More than they had.

Flouncing forward, she grabbed his hand and tugged him quickly over to the fully stocked bar, getting him out of the way in case Mr. J decided to start thinning the herd. Visions of sugary drinks danced in her head and the blonde grabbed a menu off the bar, flipping through the pages quickly for something she recognized. Beside her, the man trembled and shook, eyes darting around the roof as if trying to find an escape route that didn't have an armed clown rooted in front of it. Harley eyed him over the top of the menu and supposed that she would have found him handsome once upon a time: neatly trimmed stubble and blue eyes… It had been her thing, before her thing became dyed green hair and a laugh to shake the world apart.

"Wha's tha sweetest thing ya got?"

It took him a moment to find his voice, but the second he began to speak she cut him off.

"Nevermind! I wanna strawberry daiquiri!"

Legs swinging on the barstool, she tossed the menu over her shoulder and leaned her elbows on the bar to watch him make her drink with shaking hands. Behind her, she could hear The Joker talking lowly, maybe telling the henchman some other detail of his plan he'd just remembered. Hearing his voice made her feel content, safe, and she sighed under her breath.

The noise drew a glance from the bartender, whose nervous eyes flicked over to her man before he hurriedly leaned in.

"Is he forcing you to do this?" The words were whispered under his breath, as if every passing second would find a knife buried in his throat. "If you help us get out of here, we can tell the cops. They can put you into witness protection or something, he won't be able to hurt you." There was a nod to the red marks on her shoulder and she spared them only a glance, one perfectly shaped eyebrow shooting up towards her hairline. When the Harlequin refocused on him, her blue eyes shone.

Laughter bubbled forth, ringing like bells, far too sweet and happy for surroundings filled with cold guns and sweat. It reminded him of the times he'd visited his mother in a hospital that had a name his father wouldn't say around him, for some illness that didn't have a name he could tell to his friends at school. He'd been seven and her eyes had lost their happiness, so much so that she had to go on a journey to find it again. The hospital was the first stop on the trip, his father told him, and often they went to see her. When the halls were full of other patients, he saw something in their faces-something gaunt and uncaring that said there were long, jagged fingers running through their minds and twisting in their thoughts.

This blue-eyed girl, who looked familiar somehow, reminded him of the people with snarled brains and empty eyes. He wondered if her boss was the monster with knives for fingers.

The giggles settled something cold in the man's stomach, something that grew until he felt his heart would stop. Joker had heard the laughter and stepped over, watching his creation bang her fist on the polished wooden counter with a curious expression.

Her tiny fist flew out and she grabbed the strawberry daiquiri in the bartender's hands, turning to face her love with a shining smile and giggles still shaking her body.

"He thinks you're keepin' me against my will, puddin'."

Cold in his body grew ever larger, until some invisible hand closed his throat tight and he found himself unable to speak in his defense. Together, the clowns watched him, and the man found matching amusement in their eyes, as if they were sharing a joke.

"Does he? Well Harley-Girl, we have a little time before the real show starts. Perhaps you should show him, the uh... present I got you."

If it was possible, the girl's smile grew even wider and she nodded quickly, stopping only to take a quick sip of the drink before she dashed to where she'd left her sledgehammer.

The eyes of everyone on the roof followed her back to the bar, watching each drop of blood that fell from the hammer's head and onto the back of her clothes. Hopefully she'd be able to get the blood out of her vest- it had been a present from Mr. J and she really did not want to have to tell him it was ruined. A black shirt, long sleeved and form fitting with the shoulders bared, covered most of her torso and she'd cinched a red vest around it that pushed her cleavage up to astounding heights. On her red and black pants, which were split down the middle, were several trios of diamonds. It matched her makeup, the single black diamond that enveloped one eye, almost completely dominating her face.

Trembling, the man stood, watching his fate walk towards him in combat boots and a smile that would have been at home on any beauty pageant contestant.

A vague idea coiled in his brain, slithering like a serpent.

Harley returned to The Joker's side and rested her head on his shoulder for a moment before he shook her off, gesturing with slight impatience towards the ashen-faced man behind the bar. His purple coat shifted around him as he sat on one of the stools, a seat from which he could see every delicious detail of what was about to occur as his Harlequin stepped behind the glistening counter.

Before her hammer so much as left her shoulder, the bartender had sprung. He rushed her, pushing against her shoulders, throwing the petite girl off balance as he ran by. His feet took him close to the door, before he recognized the explosive charged wired to it and he stopped, for only a moment, before changing course to head to the back entrance. There was more than one way off this roof, they couldn't have covered all the exits…

To his horror, there were two men in clown masks standing in front of the stairwell doors. Their guns, lethal and sleek, were aimed directly at him, a warning in case he tried to go any farther. Breathing ragged, he turned again, eyes seeking out the entrance to the kitchen and finding that it was too close to the purple clown for his liking. The man was giggling, eyes somehow following both his creation and her prey at once, watching to see what they would do.

Harley had collected herself from the floor.

The petite girl stalked towards him, her hammer dragging on the floor behind her, making an awful grinding noise. Her smile was still in place, frozen, and he could see flecks of red in her teeth. The remains of the drink he'd made her, most likely.

When the hammer swung, he closed his eyes.

Her pretty clothes were splattered in red by the time she was done and Harley blinked down at them like it was the first time she'd noticed the gore, inspecting the way the dark liquid blended into the dark fabric of her clothes. At least you couldn't really tell she'd been splashing around in blood.

She turned back around, letting her hammer fall to the ground beside the twitching corpse. It was possible that the man was not quite dead just yet, but she didn't think people lived long without their lower jaws attached their mouths. Blue eyes found her love on the barstool, eyes intent on her, and she skipped forward, eager for his approval. Had he liked the show? Did he think she'd done well? Should she have played with him more before going for the killing blow?

The former gymnast stopped in front of his stool, fidgeting slightly as he smiled at her- the same smile he had worn when she crushed the bones of the man's arm one by one. He fingers through her bloodstained hair slowly and she leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering at the attention.

"Blood-stained is a good, uh… Good look for you, pooh."

Someone was wailing behind her, one of the hostages or multiple; it was hard to tell without turning around and she had no intention of doing so. It was all she could do not to melt towards her God, let him kiss her, break her, fuck her on the bar counter without caring who saw them.

There was a new sound, something other than the crying and sobbing that had begun when her hammer first connected with soft flesh. It was the sound of boots crunching on the ground behind her.

In an instant the fingers in her hair had turned to vices and she was wrenched aside by her hair, a cry of pain echoing from the throat that had only known laughter and words of love so far. Her prince left her against the bar and strode forward, a light coming into his eyes that she only saw when one man was being spoken of.

Excitement bloomed in her breast and she forgot about the pain of her head, snapping upright and spinning to face the newest guest of the Gotham Royal Hotel's rooftop bar. The Joker had chosen it carefully, telling her late at night that her debut to the world couldn't be anything ordinary.

The man was taller than Harley thought he'd be, black body armor rippling over his form like ink. He was clean-shaven, from what she could see, and the symbol on the front of his suit set her heart pounding. This was whom her lord had been waiting for and the girl risked looking away from their visitor, to take in Mr. J. He was giving off waves of manic energy, speaking calmly to their guest but with such delight evident upon her face. She loved it when he got like this, could listen to him speak with this passion for hours, even if the topic wasn't her. The privilege of hearing his words and of being in his presence was enough.

"Let these people go, Joker."

Batman's voice was just as low as she'd imagined. The hostages were silent now, staring at their hero with hopeful eyes, begging him to save them without words. She didn't know why they were so scared, seeing as they hadn't actually killed that many of them. A few runners here and there, one of the waiters who'd tried to use a table knife to fight back, maybe one of the hostages just because. The bartender, of course, but it should have been obvious to them that he'd done something wrong. Really, it was child's play compared to what was probably coming, and still they wailed as though they were being dragged over a bed of hot spikes.

How alien these people seemed to her now, after two years spent in the underbelly of the city.

The bat's eyes rested on her, sitting at the bar with misted blood in her hair, and she knew she saw confusion. Joker picked up on it too and he waved her forward absently, never taking his eyes off the man in black. Once upon a time, early on, she'd been jealous of Mr. J's devotion to the Batman.

Harley skipped forward and wiggled under his arm, clinging close to his side under the purple cloak, as she regarded the man up close. News footage and cellphone pictures didn't do him justice, she decided: he was much more intimidating in person. If she hadn't spent the last few years with her puddin', she didn't think she'd have been able to talk with him- But nothing without a big, wide, red smile scared her now.

"You're Harleen Quinzel. You've been missing for two years."

It wasn't a question but she treated it like one anyway, pulling a disgusted face and shaking her head quickly. Inwardly, the blonde was amazed he'd recognized her so quickly- the makeup was a little hard to see through. Batman's gaze had moved to Mr. J's arm around her shoulders, and pride flashed through her.

"It's Harley now! Harley Quinn. Pleased ta meetcha, B-Man. And as you can see, I'm not really missing anymore!"

"Harlequin." He made the connection with her name almost immediately and Joker gave a short bark of laughter, bringing the attention back to him.

"I thought it was, ah… Fitting. Isn't she cute as a button?"

The former gymnast beamed at his words. Above them, churning the night sky, helicopters rose like birds of prey circling. It was too dark for her to make out the writing on the side, but they had searchlights, which they beamed down on the roof. The sudden sea of light took everyone by surprise after the dim lighting of the bar, and her eyes took a moment to adjust to the sudden light.

Batman took the opportunity to lunge for them, grabbing for Harley as if to drag her away from the Joker, and her lord laughed before shoving her away. He darted to the side, racing for the explosive charge on the door near the stairs, and she took it as her cue to go for the one on the elevator doors.

Something wrapped itself around her ankle before she'd made it more than a few steps and Harley fell hard on the concrete, stars bursting behind her eyes. Groaning, she rolled over to see the Mr. J on the ground as well, cackling as he stared up at his nemesis. Taking advantage of the man's momentary distraction, Harley reached into her boot to pull out the switchblade she'd sheathed there, slicing quickly through the rope. She'd have thought that the B-Man would use cable, or something sturdy like that, but she wasn't going to complain too much. Moving as quietly as she could, she crept up behind Batman, eyes on Mr. J.

A slender finger tapped on the side of the man's cowl and she smiled sweetly when she had his attention, other hand tossing the closed switchblade to Joker. Granted, he definitely had his own in some hidden pocket of the coat even she hadn't found yet, but he shouldn't have to go digging when she had one perfectly handy.

Blue eyes stared into blue as Batman inspected her. He didn't seem as… on his game tonight as he usually was. Harley wondered if her presence had thrown him for that much of a loop and the thought made her shiver with delight.

Everything was going perfectly.

One of the hostages screamed and he reacted immediately, going for the purple coat that had been steadily creeping towards the terrified mass of people while his back was turned. The girl took the opportunity to reach the charge and she quickly armed it, knowing as she did so that half the explosives in the building were primed. They had about two minutes to get off the building before it went and she hoped her puddin' had an escape plan, though she couldn't remember that being part of her briefing.

_"Stand there, look pretty, arm your charge. I'll, I'll… I'll take care of the res-__**t**__."_

"Mr. J!" She called out and performed a flourishing bow once she had everyone's attention, acting the part of the magician's assistant. The Joker's eyes lit up in excitement and he threw his head back to cackle, even as blood poured from the bloody nose Batman had given him. In a flash, the switchblade was buried in the joint of the man's elbow, where the plating couldn't cover for fear of limiting movement, and the vigilante released the clown with a cry of pain.

Her boss danced over to the stairs and fiddled around with his own device for a few seconds before popping up with an excited 'ta-da!'

"Now, Batsy, I just wanted to take my lady on a nice little date, maybe uh, introduce her to my best mate. You're being very ruuuude righ-_t_ now."

Harley stuck her tongue out at the man, puffing her cheeks out like a puffer fish, and she was graced with a beautiful grin from her man. He beckoned to her and she happily ran over as their men trained guns on Batman, keeping him pinned against the metal railing. Fingers linked together absently and she fought the urge to squeal with delight at the happiness practically radiating off Mr. J. B-Man had turned up just at the right time, they'd managed to set their charges… Later they'd find out exactly how well the decoys he'd placed around the city worked, but for now all that remained was to make her getaway. Harley couldn't remember the last time she'd been this happy, not even when they'd hung a gold medal around her neck and called her the darling of Gotham.

Above them, one of the helicopters swerved dangerously low to the building and dropped a rope ladder. In an instant she felt her heart drop through her stomach, happiness gone; there was no doubt in her mind a SWAT team was going to be descending the rope any minute, to take them in. And although she'd known the risk of hanging out with Mr. J when she first started- the idea of going to jail didn't scare her, there was no cell that could keep her puddin' locked up for long- the night had been so great that she didn't want it to end on this note. Her fingers twitched for her hammer, wishing she hadn't left it on the ground behind the bartender.

And her daiquiri! She'd forgotten all about it, she hadn't been able to drink more than a few sips!

But to her surprise, Joker began to tug her over to the ladder as their men opened fire on the Bat. His body armor protected him, but there were more than a few stray bullets that hit the hostages, sending screams of pain echoing through the night along with the mad laughter. For Harley found herself in uncontrolled mirth, face locked into a grin so wide she felt her face would split apart. She was on top of the world, a queen among men.

Mr. J scrambled nimbly up the ladder and she followed, a pang of regret flashing through her mind for the poor sledgehammer left behind in the line of duty. She'd get another one, but it just wouldn't be the same.

News helicopters drew too close to the clown couple for comfort as they pulled themselves into the body of the copter and Harley risked letting go of her handhold to blow one cameraman a kiss as they pulled away. Hopefully Batman would be too preoccupied with rescuing the hostages to follow them, but even if he tried, she was sure Joker had thought of everything.

He always did.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: If you take a look at this story, i'd really appreciate some feedback. I want to grow as a writer. Thanks very much for reading though, even if you decide not to drop me a line.**

A boat.

Harley fucking _hated_ boats. Hated everything about them, from the scent of rust and salt that clung to everything around her, to the rocking of the deck underneath her feet as she tried to find sure footing. Ever since she was little, she'd hated them and everything they stood for. Seafood never touched her lips and she held her nose when passing the fish section of the grocery store, precaution against the disgusting scent reaching her. In high school, she'd taken to telling people she was allergic to fish, shellfish, and just about anything else that came out of the ocean, as a way to be sure none of it would accidentally end up in her takeout or on a plate in a restaurant. "It's the iodine in tha' fish, I think, my throat just gets all swollen and I break out inta this nasty rash… Yeah, sushi's not the best idea…"

She might very well have been allergic, with her extreme aversion to the stuff. It wasn't like she was ever going to try any seafood in order to find out.

The blonde had only ever braved a boat once, an invitation from friends who hadn't seen her in what felt like months, clamoring to pull her away from the uneven bars for at least one day. Olympic training wasn't exactly the best thing for keeping a busy social life. Harley had worn her cutest bikini, fluffed her hair until it shone, and spent the trip hanging over the side of the vessel with a green face and a biting tone for anyone who asked if she was okay.

And now here she was, shivering on a rain lashed deck as the boat rolled in the waves. The skies had been clear all day but apparently the rain had just been waiting for dark to strike. At least it had held off until they were off the roof- if there had been no one in the open air bar to take hostage, it wouldn't have been as much fun. Thunder cracked across the sky and she jumped at the sound, prompting her man to giggle at her.

There was nowhere she'd rather be though, as Joker was standing near her, eyes searching the skies they'd come from. She stared at him, making sure his nose had stopped bleeding- something she'd done many times on the ride here, since he wouldn't let her touch it to see if it was broken. The blood had mixed with his white greasepaint to turn into a pinkish mass, making it seem as if he was feverish under the lights of the boat.

The girl shivered as her clothes were soaked in the downpour, chaffing her palms against her forearms as though this were the arctic and friction was all she had for warmth. The storm had come out of nowhere, caught them in its clutches while they were still in the helicopter. She thought she knew what whipped cream felt like now, when you shook its can before spraying it onto your sundae or into your mouth- they'd been tossed about in the wind and it had been a struggle for the pilot to land the thing, to the point where even Harley (the one who'd done handstands on a railing 56 stories above the pavement) was feeling nervous.

But here they were, surrounded by the men who'd sailed out to meet the helicopter. From what Harley gathered, it had been 'borrowed' from a Mr. Maroni, a mob boss whose reputation she knew, even if she'd never had the pleasure to make his acquaintance. A few of his guys lingered, perhaps watching to make sure the clowns didn't set the boat on fire.

Now that the fear of dying in a helicopter crash was gone, Harley wondered if any of their men had brought any sea-sickness medicine with them. Her stomach was feeling each wave that rocked the deck and she was sure that underneath the quickly streaking makeup on her face, her skin was turning quite green. Hopefully she would be able to keep up appearances for Mr. J, or at least avoid throwing up on his shoes. Christ, she didn't even want to think of what the consequences would be if she lost her lunch on his loafers.

There was movement on her periphery and she almost reacted, schooling herself at the last minute when she realized it was one of Maroni's men with gelled back black hair and a smile that made her skin crawl. (Which was saying something.) She wondered why he'd bothered slicking his hair in this weather.

He approached the clown couple and she retreated to Joker's side, angling herself slightly behind him. It was a place that made her feel secure, although many would have called it one of the most dangerous places on the planet.

"Mr. Maroni is waiting for you in his cabin."

"Eeeeeexcellent."

They crossed the heaving deck and Harley had to fight the urge not to cling to Mr. J's sleeve to keep her footing. He didn't like her touching him in front of the men or clients, not unless he reached for her first. An image thing, she supposed, and though it stung she pushed that to the back of her mind. He was a God incarnate: she should be lucky he acknowledged her at all.

But, as water-logged as she was, she didn't feel very lucky.

Inside, cool air blew over them as they entered. It would probably feel refreshing, if they were coming in from an afternoon of fun under the sun, but as it was Harley had to clench her jaws together tight to keep her teeth from chattering. There was an attendant waiting inside to offer them towels and she gratefully took one, although Joker brushed the man off altogether. As they walked, she wiped at the makeup on her face and the towel came away nearly entirely black, stained from the diamonds around her eyes.

A guard stood outside Maroni's cabin and he snapped to attention when they turned the corner, eyes widening at the sight of the rain-drenched clowns. Joker's makeup was all over his face, red lipstick mixing with black eye-paint, turning his face into a swirling canvas of colors that made him look even more insane. Harley watched his cheek twitch at the sight of the guard's fear and knew her man was giving the guy an extra wide grin, just for the hell of it.

None of the men's eyes lingered on her for more than a moment and she supposed Maroni had informed them of what Joker had done to the last guy who looked at her for too long. The memory gave her a warm fuzzy feeling inside- his screams had serenaded her from the basement for weeks, the best lullaby in the world for the lovesick girl. She knew that he hadn't done it for her: he was protective of his things, among which she certainly ranked. She liked to think she was an important possession though.

But sometimes, when she couldn't sleep at night or when he'd kicked her from their warm bed, she would let herself imagine that he'd done it out of jealousy, to protect her.

Maroni was a small man with watery eyes and tobacco stained teeth who watched them warily as they entered what looked like a study. Here, in the middle of the ship, it was harder to feel the rocking of the waves and Harley breathed a little sigh of relief as her nausea abated slightly.

Joker headed straight for the man and clapped him on the back happily, the smacking sound echoing through the room. The girl hid her grin as the mob boss struggled not to flinch. The clown was far stronger than he looked.

"Macaroni, I appreciate you coming all this way to pick up little ol' me~"

The singsong tone and mispronunciation of his name didn't seem to sit well with the man but he wisely swallowed his next words, instead gesturing to the empty chair across from him. The clown spun, pointed at it, looked back at Maroni, then pointed at himself and mouthed 'for me?' as if he'd been given a precious gift. With a cackle, he threw himself into the probably expensive chair, coat dripping on the leather. The mob boss threw a glance at the man with the towels behind them, and Harley turned in time to see him throw his free hand in the air, as if to say it wasn't his fault the clown hadn't accepted.

Stifling a giggle, the girl looked around for a moment and realized that there wasn't another chair for her. So she settled herself at The Joker's feet with a sigh. Daintily, she leaned her slight weight against his leg and laid her head on his thigh, hoping he was still in a good enough mood not to kick her away. After a moment, she felt his foot nudge her and Harley took it as silent approval of her choice. The thought made her grin and Maroni's eyebrows raised at the display before he refocused on her man, seemingly resolving to ignore the pretty blonde girl on the floor. She didn't mind; she was used to people treating her like wallpaper and she almost preferred it. The only one whose attention she needed was Mr. J's.

"I trust everything went well tonight." Maroni said and Harley snapped her gaze back to him, wondering why he'd come himself to pick them up in the middle of the ocean. He looked as if there were anywhere else he'd rather be than sitting across from the clown and his creation. Maybe that was why he'd brought along guards- to make himself feel safer as the Joker stared him down.

A yawn stretched in her throat and she slapped a hand over her mouth to cover it, wondering just how long it had been sine she'd last slept. They'd been going for a few days now at least, preparing for the night of fun, wiring the explosives into place in the other buildings. But now that everything was done, her exhaustion was catching up to her, hanging heavy on her eyelids. If Maroni and her prince were only going to talk shop, maybe no one would notice or care if she closed her eyes for a moment and took a well-deserved rest. It wasn't like she needed to listen to the conversation: Joker could handle all that. She was just a wind-up doll he pointed in the right direction and set free.

Turning her face into Joker's leg, she closed her eyes, hoping sweet sleep would help ease her seasickness until they could get off the fucking boat.

xXxXxXx

When Harley woke, she was alone, curled on the floor of Maroni's office with nary a Joker or a mob boss to be seen. It disoriented her, this well-lit room she didn't recognize: she was used to waking up alone in their warehouse or some other hideout he had, dark places with blocked out windows and the sparest bit of lighting in case anyone wondered why the abandoned house on the corner was using up electricity. The harsh lighting scared her more than the shifting shadows that curled in the corner of their bedroom- shadows were his places, and now hers too. Being alone in such a bright place frightened the girl.

Her stomach still heaved and faintly, the boat's engine could be heard, so they were still moving. She took some small comfort in that fact, since it meant Joker hadn't abandoned her.

In an instant, the girl's mouth turned down into a frown and she chastised herself for the thought, disappointed that she still could think such things.

So what if he'd abandoned her there? She'd still make it back to his side somehow. It didn't matter what she wanted- he could do what he liked as long she could still walk into the warehouse and curl up in their bed.

That was the deal Harley had made with the devil, or so she told herself when she was shivering on the cold concrete floor and nursing the consequences of his anger. He could beat her whenever he felt like it- snap her fingers with all the delight of a child discovering a new toy, break her ribs in when something didn't go right, plant the seeds of bruises with his fists and watch them blossom into splotchy, green-and-purple flowers. He could savor each tear he watched roll down her cheeks and leave her behind when the fancy took him. Twice she'd been left to languish on city streets in places far from Gotham, without money or a change of clothes or any real idea of where she was or how she was going to get home.

He could do whatever he wanted as long as Harley would be allowed back through the warehouse doors when she finally found her way to his side.

Thoughts of the first time he'd left her consumed her then, before she'd solidified the terms of their arrangement with herself.

_It had been a year to the day since she'd left her life to join him, a day she liked to think of as her birthday. A few of their cars had blacked-out windows, for when he wanted to travel without attracting attention, and they'd taken one of them out of Gotham with a few of the thugs. Harley wasn't expecting anything special; even then she'd known he probably wasn't going to mark the day. She tried not to let it bother her, as she sat curled in the back of the SUV, as close to his side as she could get. Joker had muttered something about someone who owed him a favor, told her to wear street clothes she could move in, and waved them all out the door. They'd been driving for a few hours now and her legs were cramping beneath her, but she didn't complain- it was one of the quietest moments she'd had in months and she'd take what she could get. Normally her prince was never still, flitting around the warehouse, tinkering with whatever he was working on, mumbling questions that she had learned he wanted no answer for. _

_The revenge itself had been quick: A few cans of gasoline, a couple matches in strategic areas, and some muscle to hold the doors closed as the man and his wife roasted alive inside. Joker had put his arm around her shoulders in the few seconds they had before sirens began to race to put out the house. She'd never felt happier, not even when she'd stood on the uppermost podium with gold hanging around her neck._

_On the walk back to the cars, though, she'd spotted something that made her squeal with delight and point to it with the best puppy dog eyes she could muster. There was an old gymnasium squatting on the corner, windows dirty and stained, but through the grime she could see uneven bars and rings hanging from the ceiling. Signs proclaimed it a 24-hour gymnastic center but there was no one inside besides a bored-looking, pimple faced teenager sitting at the check-in booth._

_After a quick glance back at the burning building and cocking his head to the side to listen to the distant wail of sirens, Joker had shrugged and nodded. Harley squealed and ran across the street without waiting for him, bursting in the doors and taking a long deep breath. It smelled of sweat and gym clothes, scents more familiar to her than the smell of her old house. The teenager looked up at her entrance and raised an eyebrow at the bouncing blonde in sweats- it was easy to see the gym didn't get used much at 3:30 am._

_"It's 25 to use the gym if you're not a member." _

_Harley bit her lip and reached for the knife in the pocket of her sweatpants, wondering if she'd be able to get across the counter before the girl screamed. She didn't know if there was anyone else working there, or someone in the lockers._

_Ah, to hell with it. She palmed her knife and was gratified when the girl reacted with frozen fear instead of screaming for help. _

_"I'm afraid I don't have any money on me, sweetheart!"_

_The teenager's eyes flicked from her knife to the door behind her, widening even more. The Harlequin wanted to congratulate her at getting her peepers that big. She threw a grin over her shoulder at Joker, walking in with his hands shoved in his pockets. He smacked his lips together as he glanced around the gym, gaze stopping on the knife in his creation's hand and the white of the teenager's skin._

_"She wanted ta make me pay ta use the equipment. But no one else is around so I don't think she'll get in trouble if I don't, right Mr. J?"_

_His makeup crinkled as he grinned and pulled the knife from her fingers._

_"I won't tell if you won't, babydoll. Go play."_

_Harley vaulted over the little gate with a giggle, shedding her shirt as they went. She was glad she'd worn her sports bra and sweats, as he told her too- it would be a little hard to practice in the tight, slinky pants he liked her to wear when they met business associates._

_Behind her, the girl had finally begun to scream but she paid it no mind, plopping herself down on the workout mats to stretch out her muscles. She'd practiced while she was with him, floor work and exercises to keep her body flexible, but there had been a distinct lack of rings or uneven bars in any of their hideouts. Mats were easy to improvise; sturdy equipment was not. The familiar strain was sweet as she worked out the kinks in her limbs, the movements of the stretches familiar as breathing. Harley did them every morning, even after Mr. J had taken her away from her life. Her internal alarm was still set to 6 am; every morning on the dot, her eyes popped open. It was both a blessing and a curse sometimes._

_As the teenager met the edge of Joker's borrowed knife, Harley popped off the mats and rushed over to the uneven bars. Her hands dipped into the chalk powder and she coated her hands in the stuff before turning to the bars like a friend coming home. _

_The gymnast didn't push herself, even though she was acutely aware of Joker's eyes on her when he had finished with the gym's attendant. She'd been too long away from the equipment to try anything too hard but the movements of her hands and the tensing of her stomach muscles was easy enough to come back to._

_Harley flew between the uneven bars, a bird without feathers or beak but with wings that she knew in her heart were there. _

_The dismount was easy, only a flip to let her legs taste the feel of the mat underneath them once again, and she automatically raised her arms to a non-existent audience. It was habit, the same thing that made her stretch every day. Mr. J was in her soul but gymnastics was in her blood. She'd been happy to give it up to be with him, but her love would never fully go away._

_That night she'd practiced until her arms and legs shook from exhaustion, reveling in each bead of sweat that rolled down her hairline. And when she'd finished and looked up from the stray towel she'd found lying around, her prince was gone and she was alone in a blood streaked gym. Lying on the counter was the knife she'd lent to him and the teenager's bloody heart, neatly severed from the rest of her body and left on display for her to see_.

There was a shout from somewhere on deck and Harley was startled from her thoughts, before she could torture herself with the memory of the confusion and heartbreak she'd felt. It had been two days before she'd managed to make her way back to him, not knowing why he'd left her or if he'd even take her back; but she had nowhere else to go and no one else she wanted to be with. When the door to the warehouse had opened, she'd fallen on her knees, cradling the heart to her chest, begging him to let her stay.

_"Whatever I did, m'sorry, please let me stay, please, I don' have no one else, I need you…" _

He'd laughed at her, said something about checking to see how bad she wanted him, and waved her inside. The men had stared at the human heart in her arms and quickly looked away, certain that they didn't want to know.

Joker shouted for her again and she scrambled to her feet, rushing out the door of the office and back out into the rain without a second thought. He glared when she appeared on deck and apologies sprang to her lips, pink lips pulling down into a pout even as delight poured through her. While she'd been lost in memory, they'd docked. She could see a truck waiting for them, someone she recognized at the wheel.

Finally, they were going home. She could sleep in their bed- the hour nap she'd had wasn't nearly long enough- and learn just how much mayhem they'd manage to create.

The Joker shrugged away from her when she tried to wrap her arm around his waist but she didn't let it bother her. She'd forgotten she wasn't supposed to touch him in front of others.


	4. Chapter 4

When they walked through the doors of their home, Harley couldn't stop herself from giggling. She always laughed when they came home, the sight of the clown lamps they used to light the place too much for her to take every time. It had been a warehouse for novelty items, managed by some company that had long realized there was no money to be made in selling ugly porcelain dogs and abandoned their stock. Luckily for them, a mysterious investor had stepped in to buy the place and the unsold product, under the condition that the company keep it in their name and keep out of the place at all times. Such a request wasn't unusual in Gotham, what with all the organized crime bosses who prowled the streets shoving their money around and demanding 'privacy, money, and discretion.' The clowns had never been bothered once, except by the expected homeless population that roamed the warehouse district.

The end result of the arrangement, of course, had been the lamps with the bulbous red noses, chipped white faces, and colorful bow ties that cast strange shadows over everything. The first time she'd seen them, Harley had cried from laughter, doubled over holding her sides until Joker had grabbed her by one blonde pigtail and dragged her off to their room, muttering something about crazy broads. The girl couldn't help it- She didn't know what she'd been expecting when she'd been brought to the home base of the most notorious terrorist in Gotham's history, but it definitely hadn't been anything like those.

When she finished with her laughter, the girl blew a kiss to the largest clown head- her favorite, with painted blonde hair and a red gash of a smile- and made a beeline straight for their bedroom. The henchmen slept wherever there was room: lucky ones on the few couches they had standing around, unlucky ones on the floor huddled in whatever blanket or sheet they could find. Joker had claimed a room in the back of the warehouse when he'd first moved in and no one other than the two had ever entered. The wood outside the door was stained, with what some of the goons whispered was the blood of people who'd tried to cross the threshold into that sacred room. In reality, it was the result of a leaky roof, something Harley had made one of the more handy henchmen fix within her first week. The noise drove her crazy and Joker hadn't cared. But she let them continue to talk- there was no harm in letting her man's infamous reputation grow.

She left Mr. J behind in the common area, no doubt hunting around for something to eat or pulling a few of the guys aside to mention something he wanted them to do. All that she could think about was washing the scent of salt water off her skin and then jumping into their bed. It was about the nicest thing in the room, all plush blankets and soft sheets. Harley had realized early on that he liked to pamper himself with nice things, even if he did forget to eat for days on end and slept maybe 15 hours a week.

The room itself probably would have disappointed the boys, if they ever gathered up the courage to peek in. Their bed, huge and covered in pillows, comfortable, shoved away into a corner, and almost never made. A thin layer of grime covered the floor, something Harley kept meaning to remedy but somehow never found the time or energy to tackle. There was a desk she wasn't allowed to touch, with paper littering the floor around it and an unused wastebasket standing in the corner. Sometimes she thought he purposefully missed- there was a neat ring of crumpled paper around the neglected thing, somehow impressive in and of itself.

There were two clothes racks for his jackets, dress shirts, and slacks. She'd scrounged up a set of drawers to keep her own clothes in; probably the only new looking piece of furniture in the room. Makeup bottles littered every available surface, twice as many now as there had been before she moved in. She'd strung Christmas lights in the groves of the ceiling to give the room better lighting than the few lamps could, but she'd come home one day to find that he'd been using the bulbs for target practice. As a result, there were glass shards mixed in with the general dirt of the place and she had to pick her way carefully across the floor to avoid adding yet another cut to the soft skin of her feet.

The bathroom, however, was a different story.

At all times, the smell of lemon pledge hung thick in the air of their little bathroom. Harley scrubbed the tile, walls, and shower weekly with the stuff, refusing to deal with mold and wriggling little insects in this room. Everywhere else could be as dirty as Joker wanted it- she wasn't the cleaning woman, she didn't really give a damn if he wanted to soak himself in filth until he reeked. But she was going to have a clean place to wash up in and she'd be damned if an injury got infected or she got pink eye or some other gross thing just because Joker was too busy to worry about such human things.

Shedding clothes as she walked across the room, Harley dug in the laundry pile and found the cleanest towel she could. In other words, the one with the fewest number of makeup streaks.

Inside the satisfyingly clean bathroom, she was pleased to discover that the hot water felt like working that night and jumped in without a second thought. Their plumbing was a tricky thing sometimes.

The spray of the water was welcome. On the boat, all she could think about was her stomach and the memories of that awful night in the gym, but here she was free to think back over the plan that had been executed so perfectly that night.

It was simple. He wanted to show the people of Gotham what he had made, while simultaneously giving them just a taste of what was coming. His last major job was about two years ago, just before she'd jumped off the Olympic Podium and into his arms, and although he hadn't exactly been lying low since then- the tabloids had more grainy photos of him than they knew what to do with- there hadn't been anything truly _groundbreaking._ Mostly he'd confined himself to working behind the scenes, steadily increasing the stranglehold he had on the city's mafia and sniffing out exactly where would be best to hit next.

His thinking had come up with six buildings that ran the entirety of the city and he'd set to work on thinking how he could be in six places at once. At night, when his mind wouldn't let him sleep, he'd shake Harley awake and prattle on about nothing and everything- "Gotta buy… gotta _get _more coats, find some cars, pick some people…" She hadn't pieced things together until the day he took her to meet the desperate masses who huddled in a warehouse and lifted their eyes to him like devotees.

They'd dressed a few of their more loyal men up like him and given them teams of shaking, feverish, fanatics. They'd sent the groups out to five different places around town: Wayne Tower, Vauxhell Opera Center, City Hall, the R.H. Kane Building, and Monolith Square. Each one had a small armory strapped to them, which they were encouraged to use, and an incendiary device in the 'bulletproof vests'- which they were not told about. As they moved around the building creating mayhem according to their orders, it was the imitation Joker's job to try and draw Batman by any means necessary. Once the flying rodent was spotted, 'Joker' would run and set off the devices in the vests of his followers, as well as pre-placed explosives.

Mr. J had known the Bat would make it to one or two of the places. But that was why they'd set themselves up in their own building, the Gotham Royal Hotel- just to add a little challenge, he said. To show her off, let the people get a taste of what he was planning, and retreat before anything could go_ really_ wrong.

Harley grabbed her shampoo and rubbed it into her hair, inhaling deeply to fill her nostrils with the scent of lavender and vanilla. She hadn't thought he'd meant retreat by helicopter, to a mob boss's yacht in the middle of the fucking ocean. It was smart though- the grenade launcher he'd had the boys bring came in handy in getting those pesky police copters to stop following them, and once they were out to sea it would be almost impossible to track them. She wondered how exactly he was ensuring that Maroni hadn't gone squealing to the cops the second they were back on dry land, but she was sure he'd thought of something. He thought of everything.

Judging by the pillars of smoke she'd seen on the Gotham skyline, they'd managed to carry out the plan on three of their targets. She could imagine the Batman holed up wherever it was he holed up, holding his head in his hands and despairing at his failure to save what had to be hundreds of people.

When the lather had gone out of her hair, she turned off the water and skipped out of the shower. It was always hot in the warehouse, considering it was the summer months and they didn't have any air conditioning, but she could never deny herself a hot shower. She liked the water hot enough to scald, so that she came out looking as pink as a rosebud and feeling cleaner than she would have felt in any lukewarm shower. The blonde wrapped the towel around herself, thinking about the clothes she'd seen in the laundry pile and trying to remember if her favorite sleeping tank-top had been there or if it was still in the drawers.

She was not expecting to come face to face with the Batman when she walked out of the bathroom.

A little 'eep' of surprise passed the clown girl's lips as she tried to process the sight of the Bat standing in their bedroom. She studied his jaw for a moment, wondering if Mr. J had decided to play a trick on her- but there wasn't the edge of his scars or a big red grin.

"Do… Do ya always walk in on a girl when she's getting dressed, B-Man?" Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, the girl walked around the vigilante and headed towards the laundry pile. The man hadn't arrested her the minute she stepped out of the shower and she could hear the sound of the TV outside, not accompanied by any pained groans or cries for help.

"It's not polite ta enter a lady's boudoir."

He seemed to tense when she leaned down towards the pile of dirty clothes but she only withdrew a baby pink tank top and, after some digging, a pair of shorts that didn't have _too_ much grime on them.

"Turn around." She commanded him, twirling her finger as if he needed a demonstration. The blonde tried to keep the shake out of her voice. Something told her she should have screamed for Mr. J the second she saw him, but she was wondering what he was doing here- curious enough to risk the clown's wrath if he found out she hadn't alerted him immediately to the flying rat in his home.

When she'd thrown on the clothes, she cleared her throat and the man turned back around, eyes burning holes in her face. Harley shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"I suppose yer gonna ask what he did ta me or if I need help or somethin'."

It seemed to be what everyone automatically assumed. Mob flunkies acted as though they expected her to bolt from the room whenever he wasn't there, making a huge show of guarding the exits and puffing themselves. As if she was some kidnapping victim he liked to parade around on his arm, dress up in doll clothes, and paint to look pretty. To be fair, she did sort of feel like a doll for him to play with sometimes, but she was a willing doll goddamnit. She kept knives in her boots, knives he'd taught her how to use with much enthusiasm, and could shoot a gun- as well as being absolutely _killer _with a sledgehammer.

The pun made her giggle, a brief smile flashing across her face, and Batman watched it with a queer expression. It was hard to tell exactly what it was, from the way half his face was hidden. Harley didn't devote much thought to it.

"I'm here to tell you that he's going to kill you. He's a sociopath, he's incapable of caring for another person, and if you continue to hang around with him, he's going to rip you apart."

It was straight, it was to the point, and the girl wanted to laugh again. She held it in though, concerned with attracting any attention from downstairs before she was ready.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around herself, letting her face fall and glancing down to the ground.

"I-Is… No, it's just… We're just having fun. It's a joke. S'all only joke…" Purposefully, she made her voice shake, pretending that she was trying to be strong in the face of the 'devastating' truths that Batman was dropping. She walked a step closer and he didn't back away, although she was almost certain he'd have realized that the mangled body of bartender was her kill by now. It was a little frustrating, to have no one take her seriously, but she supposed she should have been used to it by now. She was twenty-one and it didn't seem as though she was going to be any taller than 5'2. It had been useful on the mats but now she'd have given anything to be intimidating and huge.

Being tiny did have its uses though.

Harley stopped in front of the Bat and fiddled with the hem of her tank-top, hitching her breathing.

Then, she looked up at him and smiled her best grin.

"I know he's gonna kill me, ya dumb lug. Ya think I didn't know that the first time he said hello? In fact, he probably shoulda said somethin' like 'Hey, nice to meet you, one day I'm gonna put a knife through your eye and twist until it pops out!'"

The shirt she wore bared all the bruises she'd collected, and with her face paint gone it was easy to see the purple and green that stretched along one cheekbone. His colors. She wore them with pride. Harley knew the marks weren't exactly pretty though, and she folded her arms, cocking her head to the side as if daring the Batman to say something about them.

"I know I'm gonna end up in the ground because of him. And that's exactly it- when I die, it's gonna be cause of him. I want that."

"You want him to murder you and laugh over your corpse?"

She rolled her eyes, even though she knew he was probably hitting the nail on the head of what Mr. J would do when she died. The thought stung.

"Not many people get to chose how they die, Batsy. Or who kills them. And since we gotta go sometime, I want him ta be the one to get me."

He promised it to her, actually, promised that he'd be the one to take her life and watch the light leave her eyes. And he always kept his promises. It helped her sleep late at night, knowing that she didn't have to worry about being shot on a job or having her head cracked in by some dumb goon. She fell asleep next to her death almost every night; she knew right where it lay.

There was something in Batman's eyes that was suspiciously like pity, and it ignited something in her stomach. She couldn't stand pity.

"M'here of my own free will. I want ta be here and I know the risks." Her lower lip pushed out, making her look like even more of a petulant child than she already did.

God, if he started lecturing her on what she'd given up, she was going to barf.

So, in order to prevent any stuffy conversation, she jumped.

The blonde had been gradually moving closer to Batman, knowing she had to find a way to alert Mr. J to his presence. It was clear they were going to have to move hideouts, with the Bat standing in their fucking bedroom, but she wasn't so sure she could convince him of the urgency without him seeing the evidence with his own eyes.

Her body launched across the small space and her arms locked around Batman's neck as she screeched.

**_"JOKER!"_**

She never used the name for him, and hopefully that weirdness- combined with the tone of her voice, which was reminiscent of a drowning victim or someone being dangled out a forty-story window- would have him up in a flash.

An elbow shot back into her stomach, the armor clad joint packing more of a punch than it would have alone. Harley huffed and felt her hands loosen. The blow had silenced another piercing scream but she managed a half-strangled yell at the sound of footsteps in the corridor, just knowing that it would be him. He'd have to believe her now.

The door crashed open as Batman broke her grip, throwing her halfway across the room into the wall. She lay there, slightly dazed, as the two sworn enemies sized each other up. It was almost possible to see them puff out their chests, draw themselves up to their full heights. Harley wanted to tell them to pull out a ruler, drop their pants, and get on with the dick measuring competition, but common sense zipped her lips and the probable concussion made the world swim in front of her.

Christ, Batman hit hard… There was something warm and wet running down her neck and she shivered as she felt it, raising shaky fingers to the back of her head and staring when they came away bloody.

Harley must have blacked out for a moment, because the next time she blinked Mr. J had her on her feet and there was a knife pressing into her throat.

"-Can get everyone downstairs, Batsy, just thiiink about it…" "We're going to walk out now-" "If I see one hint of a cape, she's gonna-"

Her eyes fluttered at his proximity, happiness pooling at the grip he had on her arm, and some tinny, boring voice in her head told her that was ridiculous. But she was a little beyond that now.

The green glow of the emergency lighting sign filled her vision and she wanted to coo at the sight, but they were past it too quickly and then they were outside with the warm night wind whipping her head. Joker was fairly dragging her along and it was all the girl could do to keep up with him, bare feet slapping the rough pavement. He handed the knife to her and she stared at it in confusion, watching it glint in the street-lights. Her man went rooting through his pockets with his now free hand and came up with a long, thin wire. She wondered where he kept all the stuff- there couldn't be that many pockets… But her head hurt too badly for her to be able to focus on the question for long.

After another few blocks, he released her and crouched by the side of an inconspicuous SUV to begin shimmying the lock open. She swayed on her feet for a moment before sinking to the sidewalk, the knife he'd carelessly handed over still clasped tight in her hands. It was a little difficult to think straight, but she tried to keep her thoughts from getting snarled up. Absently, she took the blade and pressed it into her palm so that she'd have something to focus on other than the pain in the back of her head.

When she looked up, Joker was staring at her, and she realized he'd said something she'd neglected to respond to.

"W-What?" She asked in a meek voice.

"I said… If you don't get up off what I'm sure is a veeeeery com-fort-a-ble slab of concrete… I'm, uh… I'm gonna leave you here."

The girl popped up quickly, realized what a terrible it was, and spent the next few seconds leaning against the car trying not to vomit. She heard a growl of frustration and looked up in time to see him slam the door on the driver's side. Harley stumbled around the front of the car, half afraid he was going to put his foot to the gas and ram her, but he merely honked the horn to indicate that he wanted her to hurry up. The sound sent a stab of pain through her head as she dropped into the passenger's seat, curling up on herself.

It took hours for them to get wherever they were going and Harley alternated between dozing and staring out the window. Something about not being supposed to sleep with concussions nagged at the back of her mind but she was too exhausted to pay attention to it and Joker seemed busy watching out for a large black tank or a shadow looming on the rooftop. They circled the city several times, shaking any possible pursuers many times over, before they pulled into the shelter he let the fanatics stay in.

A few of the vagrants were still awake to greet them as they drove into the warehouse and they crowded the vehicle, placing dirty palms on the windows as if trying to push through and touch them. Joker scowled, honked the car horn again to get them to move away, and Harley giggled quietly to herself in the passenger seat. She was exhausted and although the bleeding had stopped- she was pretty sure, she hadn't actually checked on the car ride here and if it hadn't she'd have bleed out already, right?- both her wounds throbbed.

"I'm gonna… Sleep in tha' car, puddin'…" She trailed off, unable to find the strength required to move her limbs. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, opening his car door slowly.

From the reaction of the people around them, you'd have thought he was Jesus demonstrating his ability to walk on water. The car horn had woken many more and they all stood with hollow eyes and feverish hearts, watching as their God pulled their Mary from the side of the vehicle. He wasn't particularly gentle with the girl but she curled into his chest anyway, glad she was little enough for him to be able to carry her with ease. They tromped up the stairs to the platform, Joker steadfastly ignoring the voices that had begun to cry out to them. But Harley leaned her head over his shoulder, though the movement made her dizzy, and smiled at them. It seemed to be all they wanted.

Accessible by the platform was a small office, presumably the foreman's office when this had been a working factory. J kicked open the door and deposited her unceremoniously on the floor. He didn't bother to lock the door behind them; the platform and everything it led to was holy ground, and none of the trash on the factory floor would ever _dare_ to climb it.

Harley groaned and curled up once again, glad that she could finally go to sleep for real. Behind her, Joker was on a cellphone, speaking in a low, authoritative voice that she vaguely recognized as the tone he used when he needed to get things done very quickly.

Later, she vaguely surfaced from sleep when something extremely warm and heavy settled around her shoulders. She'd wake up wrapped in his purple greatcoat to find that he'd never gone to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

In the morning, her internal alarm screamed at 6:00 am and she stirred beneath the huge purple coat. There were multiple hard objects poking her from the garment's hidden pockets- she was mildly grateful she hadn't accidentally wiggled open any of the knives while she slept. Her head was throbbing and Harley took a moment before she opened her eyes, taking stock of what hurt. Mostly the wound in her hair, a slice on her palm… Not that bad, she guessed. The previous night was a little fuzzy but it was easy to tell they weren't in their bed.

After a moment, the girl opened her eyes to stare at the dirty ceiling, struggling to keep awake. The nap on the boat had probably only been an hour, and although she didn't know what time they'd been forced to flee from the Batman, it probably was far closer to six than she'd have liked.

Oh, right. The whole Batman thing.

The clown pushed herself into an upright position and immediately regretted it when a wave of pain swept through her head. That was going to get old real fast. Harley hissed through her teeth, moving her head around slowly to take in more of the room. Some sort of control booth for a factory long dead, she guessed. Papers littered the floor and ancient furniture, covered in thick layers of dust and spider webs, squatted in the corners. It was probably best she didn't think too long about what had been on the floor she'd slept on. Against one wall was a set of windows to let the foreman look out onto the production floor, but the blinds had been drawn tight and she couldn't see anything.

The Joker was slumped in a rolling chair across from her, long legs kicked up on the desk, arms dangling at his sides, and head tipped over the back of the chair. It didn't look like the most comfortable of positions but that probably didn't bother him in the slightest. His makeup, already streaked from the rain of the evening, was almost gone and she stared at the sight of him in his dress shirt, vest, and pants without the makeup. It wasn't something she was used to seeing.

It was quite obvious he wasn't sleeping and after a moment, she cleared her throat. Eyes popped open and shifted to her immediately. Harley suddenly became self conscious- she was sure she looked a mess after sleeping on the floor all night.

He peeled himself off the back of the chair and leaned towards her, lips pursed as he chewed on the inside of his scars.

"Tell me wha-t… Happened." There was the rasp of exhaustion in his voice and she remembered that this past night made over 72 hours he'd been up.

Swallowing her concern since she knew he'd only tell her to shut up and mind her own business, she nodded. Then, when her headache protested the movement, she settled for mild bob.

"I got in tha' shower, got outta tha' shower," She ticked off the events of the evening on her fingers, deciding to leave out the part of being naked in the same room as the Bat. "Then went into tha' room and got dressed. I didn't hear nothin' until I turned around and suddenly bang! Huge scowlin' guy in the bedroom."

"What did Batsy want?"

"He came to tell me that you're gonna kill me, sociopathic maniac, blah blah." It was hard not to let her irritation with the line of conversation show and one corner of his mouth hiked up as he watched her.

"Nothing about the people you helped kill?"

Harley drummed her feet against the concrete floor nervously, wondering if there wasn't a little bit of danger in his tone: she couldn't tell what was going on behind his eyes and that didn't mean good things. But there was nothing she could but answer his questions honestly- he always knew when she was lying.

"Nothin'. Not even about the bartender without his jaw."

"Hm."

It was a non-committal noise and it didn't do anything to allay her fears, so in order to distract herself she rose from the floor and stretched out her back. There was an unpleasant stiffness to her muscles and she'd have set to stretching them out if the room were a little bigger; as it was, there was barely enough space for the desk, the office chair, a filing cabinet, and the little bit of floor she'd used as a bed.

The nausea from her concussion had mostly gone away and Harley cast a curious glance at the office door before looking back at Mr. J. It was around 6 in the morning, if her internal clock was still functioning correctly, and she wondered if they were going to spend the day cooped up in here. It didn't seem like a good idea for him to be walking around with the sun shining, not with the fires probably still burning.

"You really go-t his attention." The Joker enunciated each 't' clearly and Harley shrugged slowly, fingers tensing in the lining of his jacket. She'd wrapped it around her when she stood up, it's fabric swamping her tiny body, and right now she felt like it was her only defense against what she was slowly realizing was anger. Surely he wasn't going to shoot her while she still wore it- he had others, but they were all back at the hideout, which would already be swarming with police by now. Joker likely wouldn't be able to replace it quickly and she didn't see a laundry machine hiding in the corner.

"Does that make you happy, Harley-Girl? Getting something like the Bat's attention is quite the, uh… Accomplishment."

The Bat was such a dangerous topic of conversation. Sometimes he could go on for hours about his adversary, sometimes even the suggestion of the dark knight would be grounds for a bullet to the head of whoever was closest. She swallowed hard, recalling her nerves from the last night but in a whole new way. She'd known the Batman didn't kill people, but of course she had no such guarantees with her clown.

"It makes me a lil' happy, Mr. J." An understatement, but she was sure he knew that.

Mimicking her actions from the boat, since he seemed to approve of them, Harley settled herself at his feet and looked up at him. She liked him like this, she decided- it reminded her of sleepy mornings, when her whole body was sore from the night's exertions. Rarely did he ever sleep later than she did, but it had happened once or twice, and the sight of him without his makeup and still deeply asleep was something she treasured.

"I mean… it means I'm good, ya know? Good enough to be with ya. Or, around ya, or like… Vaguely in the vicinity of ya. That's all I want."

The corners of his lips turned up as she fell silent and she hoped she'd said the right thing.

"Is it, Harl? You sure you wouldn't rather go for another medal? I'm sure they'll still take you back." His voice was back to being light and teasing and she relaxed, snorting.

"After last night? That ship's sailed, hit an iceberg, broke in half, and sank to the bottom of the ocean, puddin'."

The news footage had to be playing on every channel around the world. Joker had been famous in Gotham before, but now… Everyone would know his face. And his laugh.

Hers too. She'd blown a kiss to the news crews after all, snuggled up tight in a helicopter with the wanted terrorist and a grenade launcher. Perhaps they'd figured out who was under the makeup by now, perhaps not, but either way there was no chance of going back. Not that she wanted one.

Harley had killed Harleen two years ago, there was no point in going back to being a dead girl.

"Ah, yes, you're right. You could still leave though. Run somewhere faaaaaar far away, where no one knows your name or face, restart your life, and hope I never find you."

She actually laughed at that. The clown girl reached out for his hand and he let her take it, fingers limp in her own. She studied his palm, the skin a book of his knowledge. Bomb maker's hands, with dirt under the fingernails and thin scars that spoke of years of knife fighting. Harley had a few of her own, gotten in the course of training or work.

"Ya'd always find me." The blonde raised his palm to her cheek, nuzzling her soft skin into his callouses. He let his hand hang in her grip for a moment before he pulled away, studying his creation intensely. She stayed still, letting his gaze travel over the pink tank top and purple coat.

"Yes. I would. But you wouldn't run, would you babydoll?"

He didn't actually mean it as a question but she shook her head no emphatically, blue eyes wide in earnest.

"No Mr. J! Never."

His hand shot out again and grabbed her chin, fingernails digging into the bruised skin there. Harley struggled not to cry out and instead focused on his eyes, searching for his intent. If he meant to kill her there, she'd be pretty disappointed, but it wasn't her choice to make.

Eventually he let her go, waving a hand over at the door and turning away from the blonde with an air of dismissal.

"Go find one of them about my size and bring him up here. And a hat."

Gladly, she stood up again and shed his coat, carefully folding it as best as she could before placing it on the desk next to him. All the hidden knives made it look a little lumpy, but it was the best he was gonna get.

Harley left the office as quietly as possible, hoping to get off the platform unnoticed. The people who slept in this warehouse made her a little uneasy; the way they stared at her with burning eyes, or cried out for J to give them just a little bit of his attention unnerved her. It wasn't like she couldn't relate- she often felt like a dog begging at the table for just a bit of it's master's supper. But she'd felt… Special, when he'd let her talk to them from the platform. Here, without a mission to complete or a sledgehammer on her back, she was forced to realize how very similar they all were.

Devotees to one who was a devotee himself. She was sure that a psychiatrist would have a field day dissecting the dynamic of the homeless who looked at the Joker with the love of a fanatic for his god. She didn't want to think of the party the press was going to have with the Olympian who'd walked out on her life for a terrorist.

Eyes turned up to the platform despite her best efforts and she was met at the stairs with a small group of wide-eyed people. They shrank away from her as she approached and Harley momentarily felt like Moses, spinning in place to take in everyone standing around her. There were blankets and pallets of pillows around her, scattered across the floor. Every one of them had someone sleeping on it and those that didn't had someone standing or sitting jealously nearby, guarding it as if someone was going to dash in and take it from them. Somebody might, now that she thought about it. The blonde didn't think pillows and blankets were in great supply in J's Fantastical Shelter for the Homeless.

Her feet took her through the rows. There had to be over a hundred here, and she knew that more came all the time. Attracted by the promise of shelter and defense. It wasn't easy being homeless in Gotham- in addiction to assholes that liked to look down upon the less fortunate, there were the more insidious threats. Scarecrow, who liked to pull people off the streets for his experiments, the mobs who promised money and power but ended up using them as canon fodder more often than not. She'd heard of something new as well, bodies turning up in alleys, poisoned with something the police had never seen and a lipstick mark perfect on their cheeks.

Supposedly, living under the killer clown's protection and volunteering for the suicide missions he liked to use them for was better than nothing.

But she'd been sent down here to get Mr. J some clothes, not contemplate the state of the homeless populace of Gotham. Harley wasted no more time in tracking down someone who stood close to J's height, sizing him up against an imaginary picture of Joker in her mind's eye. This homeless man was a little broader in the shoulders than the clown, and he might actually have been a little taller- he certainly towered over Harley's petite figure- but it was probably the best she was going to find.

A small hand patted the man's arm, gentle and warm. He looked down at her with big eyes and she smiled back up, teeth beautifully white and even. J had taught her that a smile could do so many things and she worked that to her advantage now, even when the friendly pat turned into an appraisal of the material his shirt was made out of. Calloused fingers, worn from the years on the uneven bars, moved to take the man's hand and guide him back towards the stairs where she came from. It was difficult to make sure his eyes stayed on her, since it required walking backwards through the crowd, but she didn't want to give him the opportunity to think about the danger that lurked in the office. Soft blue eyes and a friendly smile- Harley would have no chance of catching him if he broke and ran for the door. Was she strong? Yes. Fast? Not quite.

As her back foot hit the stairs, she remembered that her man wanted a hat too. Internally cursing, the girl held up one finger to the somewhat confused man she'd been leading and spun on her heel. A baseball cap caught her eye and the blonde danced over, stealing the cap off the woman's head with a wink and a blown kiss. She didn't protest at the theft; rather, she gaped blankly at Harley, only whispering something when the girl ran back to her prize. It sounded something vaguely like a 'thank you' but she hadn't really been listening.

Up the stairs again she went, with the unfortunate man who seemed to be having a religious experience dragged behind her. He was more dead weight than motion, gazing at the rusty, rickety sky-bridge like he'd never seen anything more beautiful. Harley rested her hand on his shoulder and shoved him in the door, closing it quickly behind them before anyone below could catch a glimpse of what awaited one of their own inside.

She was fairly sure that Mr. J was going to kill him. It had been that kind of night, and thankfully it seemed he still needed her, so this man would be providing some much needed stress-relief in addition to a new wardrobe. Keeping against the wall, the girl inched closer to the desk as the clown introduced himself in a soft voice. She reached for the coat, and riffled through a few of the pockets quickly, searching for a nail file she knew he that he kept in there. The blonde wanted something to do while the homeless man died, something other than watching blood splatter the walls. Her nails were looking a little too long for her liking and she might as well try to pick off the remains of the pink flaking nail polish.

Skipping over to a corner when she found the metal nail file hidden in the lining of the coat, Harley settled herself on the floor to carefully pick at her pink nails. She hadn't touched up the polish in a while, too busy dealing with the show they were going to put on for Gotham, and a tongue poked at the corner of her cheek when she saw how ragged they looked.

As the poor homeless man stripped obediently for the Joker, she began to carefully shorten her nails. It was a little hard to tell if the streaks of red on the thing were rust or dried blood but she tried not to worry about it too much, focusing her attention on the motion. She'd gotten quite used to ignoring screams during her time in their hideout and so it was nothing to tune out the homeless man's screams once J got down to his fun. Hopefully he'd remembered to roll up his sleeves before he started, since their ready supply of dress shirts wasn't available.

When her nails sparkled and she'd scrapped off the remains of the bubble gum color she'd painted them with a few days ago, she looked up to find the man dead and The Joker staring at the body with a serene expression. It appeared he'd been playing a game of tic-tac-toe on the man's chest, though thankfully with the clothes kicked to the side of the pool of blood, and it looked like 'O's had won. The killing blow had been the line through the game, a diagonal dragged down from the left side of his chest.

"He was O's." The Joker confided in her with a smile and she shrugged, twisting off the floor and gingerly stepping around the blood to get a better look at the game.

"Win some, ya lose some Mr. J."

"We've got some, uh, time before our escort comes to pick us up, Harley-Girl. Do you want to play another gaaaaame with me?"

Anyone else would have been on edge, with the remains of his last game so visible on the floor around them, but she only nodded eagerly. Gingerly she rolled the man's body into the corner she'd just vacated while he withdrew a pack of playing cards from the depths of his coat. There was nothing to be done for the blood and so they huddled themselves in the part of the floor that hadn't been touched, his expert hands dealing the deck quickly for a game of war. Joker liked it because it was a game totally based on luck- Harley liked it because card games almost always got his undivided attention.

As they dealt out three cards for the first battle of the game, she asked him what they were going to do next. And as always, she didn't really understand the answer, but it sounded like fun.

"Why, we're going to the circus kiddo."


	6. Chapter 6

They'd managed to make the ambience in the room perfect. The shades on all the windows were closed tight and they'd turned off all lights expect for one small lamp on the narrow desk. Though it was the middle of the day outside, it looked like midnight inside: a perfect setting for whatever it was they'd be doing.

The narrow white trailer hadn't been what she'd been expecting from a Ringmaster's living quarters: Harley had expected colored walls and striped patterns everywhere. The leader of a circus should be colorful and happy, maybe with posters and trophies everywhere that showed just how amazing he was at his job. She'd expected signs of a jolly, cheerful person.

So, the blank white walls and futon covered with papers and dirty sheets had been quite the let down. Even Joker had tisked quietly under his breath after they snuck in, glancing around the utterly mundane room with distaste. Their old hideout had looked more like the home of a circus leader than this place, and it had been decorated mostly by glowing novelty clowns! The blonde sat herself on the desk and swung her legs back and forth, drumming her heels on the polished wood.

"Doesn't look like he's ever cleaned this place, Mr. J." She twitched and discovered that her hand was sitting in something sticky. Raising her palm, she was dismayed to discover it slathered in thin brown goo and she squealed, tumbling off the desk and away from whatever the offending substance was. Joker looked up from the sheave of papers he'd been leafing through at the noise, one eyebrow raised. As answer, she presented the hand to him and was rewarded with a noise of disgust and a vague wave in the direction of the sink in the back.

Harley scrambled over the open futon and dirty sheets, doing her best to touch as little of them as possible. It was clear the whole setup was designed to be easily mobile, with the smallest imaginable shower stall, toilet, and sink in the corner. She ran the water over her hand, trying her best to not think about what the substance could be. It could have been congealed coffee maybe, or a caramel that had melted and covered the desk. She hoped it was something mundane like that.

One finger, conspicuously devoid of it's usual purple glove, ran down the only picture on the wall and came away covered in dust.

"I think you're right about the hygiene, Harley-Girl. A damn disgrace to performers everywhere."

"But Mr. J, your room's much worse!"

The gymnast giggled, one eye on the way his back stiffened and one on the door in case she had to make a run for it. But he was only chuckling and she relaxed after a moment, drying her hand on her tank top. She wished she'd thought to grab something more useful to wear, but she and Joker were a matching pair in their casual clothes. It felt weird to be on a job and not be in her makeup, but she knew Mr. J had to be feeling worse. Harley had managed to convince him to wash off the remains of his makeup in the sink before they left, citing the fact that splotchy makeup did not an imposing picture make. Her arm still hurt from the Indian burn but there were no more traces of white or red on his skin.

The Clown had given her one of the knives he had tucked away in his coat pockets and she felt it's weight in her pocket as a comfort. She didn't know what they were there to do, besides apparently to nose through all of the Ringmaster's files, but there was no doubt she was going to need it at some point during this confrontation.

As if summoned by her thoughts, they heard keys in the door. Quick as a flash, Joker grabbed her shoulder and shoved her towards the desk. He himself rolled straight under the futon, out of sight in the dim lighting of the trailer unless you knew where to look for him. There was nowhere else out of sight to hide, but… Harley gaped at the sight for a minute, before he scowled at her and told her to 'act natural!'

She had a moment to settle her herself on the edge of the desk, deftly avoiding the puddle of stickiness, before an older black man barged into the room and stopped short at the sight of her.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, eyebrows furrowing together as he took in the sight of a petite, blonde girl in pigtails and a tank-top sitting in his dark trailer. Harley stretched like she'd been waiting a long time, mind racing to come up with an explanation for her presence. What the fuck did Mr. J want with this guy?

Unbidden, her eyes found her boyfriend underneath the futon and she realized he was laughing at her.

There was a broad hand slapped across his mouth and his shoulders shook with giggles, threatening to bump up against the springs of the couch and reveal his presence. Indignation filled her stomach and she tore her eyes away from him before her gaze could give him away. There was no reason he had to hide: he was just throwing her out in the water to watch her sink.

Well, she was gonna fucking float.

The Ringmaster's eyes automatically went to her legs as she moved and the gymnast realized she could use that. In a split second, she went from lazily lounging across the desk to sitting bolt upright on it, making her gaze wide and pleading.

"Oh please don't be mad, please please don't be mad! I know you're not looking for new performers but I just had ta come see you in person, please don't kick me out!"

She clasped her hands together, praying that her image hadn't been broadcasted everywhere and, if it had, that he wasn't the type to watch a lot of news.

"What? You want a job?" He squinted at her, seemingly disarmed by the sudden flood of tears in her baby blue eyes.

"Oh please, I wanna be an acrobat so badly! But every time I come, it says you're not looking fer new ones and this is my last chance ta be one, please just let me audition for ya!"

"Audition?"

"I'll show ya what I've got, I know I can do it!"

And before the stunned man could do much more than gape, the blonde launched herself off the desk. She flipped and landed on top of the futon, less out of spite and more out of necessity- she didn't have much room to maneuver in the small trailer. But it was still satisfying to hear a small noise of discomfort from beneath the mattress: she hoped she'd knocked the wind out of him.

Harley preferred it when it was just them two and whoever their target was. In front of the men or whatever organization he was intimidating, Joker liked her to sit down, shut up, and look pretty. Of course she did so, because the consequences for not doing so were severe. She naturally deferred to him in those situations, preferring to keep her eyes and ears open to everything around them. And he'd only recently started letting her come to meetings, rather than leaving her in the hideout to practice her shooting or whatever it was she did while he was gone.

But when it was just the two of them, she could joke with him. As long as she didn't upstage him (and she'd never wanted to, this was his show and she was so grateful he'd let her along for the ride), he seemed glad to have someone who actually got the joke. The thought made her proud.

It was nice when she got a chance to show off. Since he'd obviously set this up just to watch her flounder around a little, she'd take the opportunity: it had been a while since she didn't have an audience that wasn't him or his goons.

From the futon, Harley cartwheeled onto the ground and spun quickly, taking advantage of the small clear space between the futon and the wall to do a handstand. Blonde pigtails fell into her face as she lifted one hand off the floor and she blew them quickly out of her eyes so she could see what she was doing. Quickly, she shifted her weight to her other hand, let him see how easily she did it, and then went forward in a handspring. Her sneakered feet landed on his desk and she resisted the urge to shout 'ta-da' when she successfully stuck the landing, instead only presenting him with a dazzling gleaming smile.

Whatever the ringmaster was going to say in reply to her small routine was cut off when the sound of clapping came from underneath the futon. She resisted the urge to pout as Joker wiggled his way from under the bed- she always liked to hear people praise her gymnastic abilities.

As if in contrast to her gleaming smile, the Ringmaster's face had fallen and his eyes were bugging out. She supposed the sight of the Joker crawling out from under your bed wasn't something most people were prepared to see. It was a testament to how famous his face was that this man, who wasn't even from Gotham, could recognize him without his face paint or signature clothes. Harley retook her pose from earlier, perched on the edge of his desk, and crossed her legs as she waited for her man to explain to the ringmaster why they were here. She was also kinda looking forward to the explanation.

"Dazzling performance, right Mr. Ringmaster? Such talen**-t**."Harley felt herself reddening with delight as Joker crossed to the desk and stood next to her, pinching one of her cheeks affectionately. He used more force than was necessary, probably a payback for jumping on the futon. The position was also conveniently between the rapidly paling man and the door, just in case he decided to make a break for it.

"It's all over Gotham! We're a city that absolutely oozes talent! So, uh, why exactly have you cancelled your Gotham show?"  
The knife in her pocket flashed up to her palm and she began to clean her already perfect nails with the point, make sure it winked conspicuously in the dim light.

"I get it, I get it, you gotta be careful about the image you, um, project!" Joker quickly grabbed hold of the man's arm, pulling him closer to the killer duo."Lotta people died yesterday, might be in bad taste to bring in some new clowns…" He trailed off as the ringmaster seemed to find his voice again.

"You're the Joker! Y-you you're the Joker! Don't kill me, please don't kill me!"

A sigh escaped the clown's thin body, as if he was utterly disappointed in the man's choice of words. Even with the short amount of time she'd been working with him, Harley had to agree- it was tiring how often his victims said those words.

"Yaknow, if, if, if I wanted to kill ya, I woulda let Harley hide under the bed while I showed you some talents of my own." He raised an eyebrow, waiting for his words to sink in, before he continued. "And if you keep this up, you're gonna make me change my mind."

She nodded beside him, adding in her opinion that he definitely would.

"So, uh, where was I… Right, right, you cancelling the show. Ya see, what I think the people of Gotham need right now is some laughter to brighten their dreary, dull days. And who better to do that for them than the circus?"

It was a question that he threw over his shoulder to Harley and she happily answered him, looking up from her knife.

"No one but you Mr. J!" 

"Exactly, babydoll. So, I was thinking, see, what would bring more smiles than little 'ol me alone?" He paused, as if waiting with baited breath to see if the guy would guess. When the ringmaster stayed silent, he huffed in disappointment and continued.

"Me_ and_ a circus! Can you imagine the entire town of Gotham coming out for a grand time at the circus and finding their favorite clown is performing too? They'll be screaming in the aisles!"

A whimper escaped the man at the word screaming and he wordless looked back and forth between Joker and Harley, seemingly searching for something to say in response.

"…You want me to let you be in my show?"

There was a frustrated groan. From the knife in his hand, it was easy to see that The Joker's patience had run out. One arm came up to land across the man's collarbones and the clown shoved him back into the wall, the blade flashing up to rest gently on the man's throat.

"No. Weren't you listening? I want you to uncancel the show in Gotham. Just bring your merry band around and I'll do the rest. You can even cancel the clowns if it makes you feel better. Got it?"

Wordlessly the man nodded, thought better of it as the movement caused the blade to jostle dangerously against his skin, and settled for a weak motion of the head. Harley clapped, cheering at the conclusion of business, and Joker mimicked the head nod with a jeer.

When the knife vanished back inside his sleeve, Joker let the man go and motioned to the door. The blonde swung herself down from the desk, visions of the carnival games outside dancing in her head. Maybe she could convince Mr. J to let her play a few of them, she was sure she could win a prize. She wanted a new stuffed animal to restart her collection- the police had surely taken all her teddy bears in the raid.

"Could we stop ta play somma' tha games, Mr. J? Just a few? I wanna get a prize!"

"No Harley."

He kicked the door open, laughed to himself at the neat, muddy footprint his shoe left on the wood, and they strolled out into the bright sunshine. She was momentarily blinded by the light, having come from a room so dimly lit she'd had to squint to see.

"Please puddin'? I promise it won't take more than a minute, you can hide, they won't see ya!"

This time he didn't answer her, but stood completely still on the road. If he could have frowned, she was sure he would have, but he only swung his head back towards the trailer and exhaled hard through his nose.

The Joker quickly loped back to the small structure and threw the door open, to reveal the ringmaster hunched over his desk with a phone in his hand.

"Aha! Knew I forgot something!" The clown tossed over his shoulder, as though Harley had been arguing with him about it. She heard a yelp of fright from inside and scurried to the door to see her boyfriend wrestling the phone from the Ringmaster's grip. Fighting the urge to cheer him on, she quickly tried to block the scene from outside view with her body, realized she was too small to be an effective screen, and settled for gently closing the door again.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, naughty naughty…" Joker clicked his tongue, easily holding the phone out of the man's reach. "You went straight to the police, I thought we had an understanding!" He sounded genuinely hurt, as though the betrayal shocked him to the core, and she had to fight the urge not to laugh at the idea.

One muddy boot came to rest on the side of the man's head as he casually tossed the phone back to Harley.

"And you're so lucky I came back, or else you would have been in big trouble too!" He pressed down with his boot and she saw the man grit his teeth in pain.  
"Ya see, I forgot to tell ya about the little… Insurance policy I took out on ya. I had some cash to burn and I thought 'Why not give it to some deserving people?' And since I know of no one more deserving than someone who works in a circus, I found a few of your fine carnies and freaks, and gave 'em a little Christmas bonus. Now, I'm not gonna name names, but they were veeeeery grateful, and they agreed to keep an eye on you for me! And if they se a hint of a badge, or just the idea of a black cape, well... I don't remember what I told them to do, but i'm sure it'll be a blast."

Harley giggled at the look of pure panic on the Ringmaster's face: he'd have no way of knowing which of his employees were going to report on him, or indeed if Joker was even telling the truth. But she was sure he wouldn't risk it.

The blonde put the cell phone down on the coffee table in the room, thoughtfully leaving it behind for the man.

They made their exit again, with Mr. J happily planting another muddy boot print beside the first one. Outside, the scent of cotton candy and fried dough filled her nose, and she remembered that she'd wanted something very badly.

"Oh, please let me play a game! Please, please please!"

"I sai**-d no** Harley."

"Just one, just one, I wanna get a teddy-"

Whirling on his heel in front of her, Joker turned with all the grace of a tornado and struck her. Harley cried out at the sudden blossoming of pain on her already bruised cheek, just barely managing to keep her balance by grabbing onto the ring-toss booth next to her. People looked her way, but he was already walking away and with the crowd around them, it was difficult to tell whom she was with or why exactly she was in pain.

The gymnast peeled herself off the polished wood and threw a shaky smile at the operator before running after her boyfriend, afraid that if she waited too long he'd be lost in the crowd and she would just have to pray that the car was still waiting for her when she made it to the parking lot.


End file.
